Sugar Coated Heartache
by Trouble4eva
Summary: Jarryd is a vampire, trapped forever at the age of 16. All alone, except for a few close friends, including quirky night hunter Scarlett. he never expects to fall in love, until he meets Tayla. She's just a normal girl...or is she?


**hey everyone! author here! this is my first proper fanfiction story, and it isnt really that good. its only on here because a friend of mine dared me to upload it (you know who you are!) it doesnt really make sense at first, but all will be revealed in time (and the following chapters) be patient! and R&R! I'll give you a virtual cookie! tell me what you think, good or bad. as i said, not that good. kinda lame, in fact. enjoy, though!**

chapter 1

She was… beautiful. Fragile. Tiny. Soft, long hair, a dark blonde brown color with white blond streaks, pale skin stretched over a petite, doll like body. She was ridiculously small, and hardly came up to my shoulders. It took no effort to carry her. She weighed nothing. Her cheekbones were high, and her jaw was artfully sculpted. Her lashes were long, casting shadows on the pale skin of her cheeks. Her lips were… wow. Soft and a light pink color, they looked like they were just waiting to be kissed. She had long arms and tiny wrists, I could hold them both in one hand with space to spare. She wasn't very curvy, but still had an attractive figure, with her slim physique and small waist. Her legs were stunning and long, and her neck was gracefully arched. Her hands were as slim as the rest of her, with long, pianists fingers. Her nails were painted a bright blue. Since her eyes were closed, I couldn't tell what color they were, but I somehow new that they were as breathtaking as the rest of her. I wanted to keep her in my arms forever, hold her and keep her warm. To protect her and comfort her. Her hair was like satin against my neck, a soft waterfall cascading down both her shoulders and mine, partially obscuring her face from view, which was a shame. Her breath was a warm, pleasant sensation against my collarbone, and I wanted to feel her breath there every time I woke up. Her skin was soft as silk, and the feeling of it against my own gave me goosebumps. She fit well in my arms, and it felt natural to carry her like this. It felt like I'd done it a thousand times. She smelled like vanilla and sugar. You know, that warm, sweet smell that always makes you hungry? Like that. It was an amazing smell. Tantalizing. Edible. She continued to lie limp in my arms, the only proof that she was still breathing the warmth against my collarbone and the occasional whimper of pain. I hated seeing her like this, in such pain. I knew nothing about her, not even her name, but that I did know. I knew she didn't deserve it, the pain, and I knew I hated it. I wanted nothing more than to hold her even tighter and make all of this go away, all this heartache, but I couldn't. And it killed me. By now, you're probably wondering what's going on. Truth be told, I hardly have a clue myself. All I know is that about an hour ago, I got a call from a trusted friend, telling me that she needs my help. Naturally I agreed. Little did I know that what she needed my help with was this. She told me that the girl (the one in my arms) had been attacked by the monster she was hunting (she hunts baddies that go bump in the night) and that she needs me to clean the girl's wounds and take care of her. Protect her until it's safe for her to return to wherever she came from. Only problem is, I don't want her to return. I want her to stay with me. I hope it takes a long time to find and kill this particular monster. A very long time.

Chapter 2

It was about twenty minutes later that I showed up at my front door. It took a good 10 minutes trying to open the door without putting down the girl. After managing to get inside, I hurriedly walked upstairs, and gently deposited the unconscious angel on my bed. There, nestled between mounds of red and black satin pillows, she really looked ethereal, unreal, out of this world. I ran to my bathroom and quickly pulled the first aid kit out from the cabinet. I went back into my room, and, even though I knew I shouldn't, I smiled at the sight of ma petite lying in my bed. I wanted her to stay there. I wanted to join her. Stupid freaking hormones. Since I don't know her name, and it feels odd calling her the girl, I have nicknamed her ma petite. It's French for my little one. A term of affection from a man to his lover. I'm so whipped. And she hadn't even opened her eyes or said anything. Hot damn. I quickly snapped out of it and took a inventory of her injuries. She was wearing a flimsy white dress, which was very short (not to mention distracting) and showed off all her injuries. She had long, red scratches going from her shoulder to just above her left breast, and a sprained ankle. She was mildly concussed, and there was another gash on her forehead and cheek. Also, there were scratches all over her right leg, and what looked like a bite on her collarbone. Jeesh. Poor, poor, wounded angel. What did she do to deserve such pain? I got to work, and once I'd patched her up as best I could, I picked her up again, moved what seemed like five hundred pillows, opened the duvet, and gently lay her back down. Or attempted to lay her down, except she wouldn't let go of my t shirt. She had unawaredly grabbed onto it as I lifted her into my arms so I could make the bed, fisting her fingers around the thin material. Even asleep, ma petite seemed to be stubborn, and wouldn't relinquish her grip. Eventually, after the tug of war got tiring, I gave in and climbed into bed with her. As our heads hit the soft, downy plume of the pillows, she sighed contentedly in her slumber, and wormed her way into the circle of my arms, until I had my arms wrapped around her waist, she had hers wrapped around my neck, and she was cuddling me, her body flush against my own. She buried her head in my neck, and her hair was tickling my face, smelling of her smell and shampoo. I rested my chin on the crown of her head for a while, breathing her in, but after some time that became too uncomfortable, so I moved my head until it seemed like I was nuzzling her. I fell asleep with my forehead pressed against hers, holding her in my arms, feeling all of her all over me until It was like I was drunk on the sensations of her. Her warmth, her smell, her hair, her skin, the feel of her pressed against every line of me. I groaned softly. At that moment, before sleep had taken me, I wanted nothing, nothing in the whole world, more than I wanted to kiss her. I don't think I've ever fallen asleep feeling more content, or slept better. I don't think I ever will


End file.
